


you may think that you're in love

by hellisheavenwithyou



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: AU where Eve is still after Villanelle, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/F, Implied/Referenced Cheating, KillingEveWeek2020, but she's also a journalist, cause of Gay Disasters™, kind of a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellisheavenwithyou/pseuds/hellisheavenwithyou
Summary: Eve's well aware that one stupid decision cost her the most excitement she's felt in her life.  Villanelle's well aware that one stupid decision almost cost her her life.It's been three years.  They've both moved on.They've both learnt that feeling nothing is the better alternative.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 18
Kudos: 101
Collections: Killing Eve Week 2020





	1. Day 1: Soulmates (kinda)

**Author's Note:**

> I had this as a one shot planned out weeks ago. Then I thought I'd add it for KE week so I can add more chapters because I can never leave fics as one shots it seems.
> 
> If the end seems rushed or there are mistakes, that's because uni got in the way. Sorry :/
> 
> Regardless, hop you enjoy. I really miss these dumbasses.

Eve was prone to feeling nothing.

It had become as natural as breathing; a consistent lack of anything unless required, like needing heat or food or water or sex. Not that sex is a requirement, but it’s one thing that does occupy a little space of feeling within Eve, albeit short-lived. 

Her morning would usually start with the unremitting beeping of her bedside alarm (digital, because she could never remember to charge her phone), her husband Niko would then wake up and remind her to charge her phone before heading off to shower and prepare for the day. That usually takes thirty minutes, during which Eve spends fifteen of those minutes debating whether or not to continue lying beneath the warmth of her covers and the next fifteen tucking said covers beneath the mattress in an imitation of a neatly made bed. 

She would then head downstairs to prepare both her and Niko breakfast, which would consist of toast and coffee – the only things she could make that didn’t result in the house nearly burning down. He would then come downstairs, dressed in his usual attire of jeans, tie and checked shirt, kiss Eve on the forehead as she handed him his breakfast before they moved to the table to discuss their plans for the day.

Once finished Niko would kiss her (again) goodbye, lace up his beige-brown boots, grab a coat and head out the door to begin his eight-block stroll to the school he teaches at. “It’s always so lovely, walking at that time of the day,” he’d say upon someone questioning that decision at a teacher’s evening. “Plus as an added bonus, I’m helping save the environment.” And all the women with unnaturally dyed hair and floral print dresses with glasses of chardonnay in their hands would laugh and tell Eve how lucky she was. And Eve would force a laugh in response and latch onto Niko’s arm a little tighter, effectively mimicking all the other women’s stances with their husbands and warning them away from her own. Not that she really cared anymore, but my God she hated those women.

Once he’s left Eve then clears away the dishes before heading upstairs to brush her teeth and change into one of her many combinations of casual-wear; usually slacks and a t-shirt and sweater, before smoothing her hair back into a top-knot and moving to her home office to begin work at 10am sharp.

For twelve years Eve had worked as an MI5 agent, assigning protection to targeted influential people, mostly government officials. Every day there even consisted of the same, mundane work day in and day out, and it was only her two friends she worked in the office with, Bill and Elena, who made it remotely bearable. The following year, however, saw them all get recruited to a secret government agency to help track down a female assassin who’d been targeting these powerful people they were assigned to provide protection for. All because one of the higher-ups had stumbled across her “secret” files on said female assassin after she accidentally sent it to the main room printer.

And thus, London’s MI6 female-assassin-tracking team were formed.

Another man named Kenny, who more or less resembled a boy, was assigned to their team as tech support shortly after they started. Together they’d theorise, create boards and string their theories up there with the supply of yarn Bill kept at his desk during the MI5 days in case he “spontaneously took up knitting due to the boredom of the job.”

There were weeks where they’d all be on the same page; weeks spent in individual areas of the office just so they didn’t end up killing one another. There were times where they seemed to get close to finding the assassin, but the majority of the time it ended up being a copycat or just a plain, dead end. There were trips to Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam; never for long and never leading to anything new or profound. Regardless, the dreary boredom Eve had grown so accustomed to for so much of her life seemed to ebb away during her time spent at MI6. Her relationship with Niko, beforehand on the cusp of ending disastrously, was beginning to thrive again, despite his overbearing concerns regarding her job. She had a great group of friends, who she enjoyed spending time with both outside of work and within the confinements of their job.

And her job then was really, really fucking cool.

And then they discovered their old boss, Frank, was involved.

He wasn’t the assassin – they knew from the beginning that their killer was a woman (well, Eve knew and just told everyone why she knew that). But then Kenny discovered his kids’ school listed on the payroll of a really dangerous organisation they had assumptions the female assassin was involved in. And whilst they’d had some inclination MI5 had people behind all the killings, this was the first, proper confirmation.

Frank had been “off sick” for two weeks before they discovered this information, apparently staying with a family member in a little village a few hours outside London. Their new boss, Carolyn, approved to them detaining him after seeing all they’d collected on the organisation and Frank’s subsequent involvement. Finally, they could make a proper arrest.  
Eve was thrilled. The others less so.

“Make sure you’re careful this time, Eve,” Bill said as her and Elena got ready to leave. “Remember the last time you were sure of something? I almost got killed!”

“It’ll be fine, Bill, we’re 100% sure this time,” she responded, flicking the brim of his hat playfully. “All we’re doing is getting Frank, arresting him and driving back. There will be no Berlin nightclubs and scary looking women this time.”

Bill harrumphed, but smiled back at Eve all the same. “This is the best moment of your life, isn’t it?”

Eve laughed. “Even better than the day I got married.”

“Oh Eve, everyone’s well aware of that.”

When Eve and Elena arrived in the village and collected Frank, he was shaken and disturbed. When Eve confronted him about it he said there was a blonde woman with a gun after him, and he wouldn’t give them any information if they sent him to prison instead of a safe house. Reluctantly, they complied, and received information on the organisation called The Twelve as a result. And Eve had gone galivanting off with a sense of anger and purpose.

Their team were forced to disband a week later.

Carolyn told them they’d just gotten too close; that it was to protect their safety and the safety of others. Usually, Eve would pick a fight, yell and scream and complain about Carolyn’s decision.  
But Carolyn’s decision was because of a decision Eve decided to make. A really stupid one. And no one else knew about it, nor will they ever.

It’s been three years since then, and Eve’s life has returned to the normalcy it once was, albeit more bittersweet since she got a taste of what it was like to not feel that way. The worry Niko had felt within mere months of Eve’s “dangerous” MI6 job left as soon as it disbanded, and he went back to being calm and content knowing Eve’s recent new job consisted of a laptop in an office at home.

So, Eve put her college journalism degree to good use and began writing for an online blog that was dedicated to women’s mental and physical health and wellbeing. Not where she saw herself using that journalism degree, but she got to work six hours a day, three to four days a week in a room right next to where she sleeps.

It wasn’t anything, but it wasn’t nothing.

Pretty soon after she started working for the online blog however, people started really enjoying her content. So much so that they wanted her to start her own blog. 

And she did. And now she has hundreds of thousands of women trying out her Korean recipes or watching her recommended movies or delightedly commenting on how lovely all the cities that Eve visited on her post-college gap year are.

Eve thought that maybe the attention and newfound route her life took her would reignite a feeling within her. One that would make her as excited to start the day as she was when she worked in MI6.  
But nope. Nada. Zilch.

Her mind and body remained numb as she typed out responses to online fans of her blog, composed emails to various companies wanting her to review their product, or brainstormed ideas on new articles she’d post. 

At about 1pm she’d make herself lunch and watch a rerun of an old sitcom the TV channels play when they know nobody’s home to watch them. Eve would sit on the couch with her food and watch it mindlessly, before heading back to her office and work until 5pm. At 5.30 Niko would arrive home, kiss the pile of unruly curls that rests atop her head and begin to prepare dinner as Eve sits at the table with her daily planner to decide what to work on the following day.

“How was work today?”  
“How were the kids?”  
“Any new sponsorships lately?”  
“You didn’t get caught in the rain this morning? Typical London weather, huh?”

The conversations each day are as predictable as the “typical London weather”. Niko would finish cooking and they’d turn on the news whilst they ate to fill the silence that came with exhausting all topics that could possibly be covered every single day. Once finished Eve would clean up whilst Niko relaxed on the couch with a beer, before she goes to shower and change into sleepwear before joining him on the couch to watch whatever he decided to play on TV.

It’s a routine they’d unintentionally settled into, one that only slightly differed every weekend or school holiday. Weekends were reserved for grocery shopping, catching up with her old MI6 crew, cleaning and preparing for the week, whilst the holidays had them visiting Niko’s family in Poland before spending a week holidaying in a different city.

Eve was well aware that people would kill to have a life like this: a steady job from home, a loving husband and frequent visits to other pockets of the world. But the predictability of it all gnawed incessantly at Eve, creating a hole inside of her that she didn’t know how to fill.

It was only when Eve would find her old assassin profiles and kills upon reorganising her desk every week that something would form in that hole. It was tiny, a brief spark and nothing more, but would cause Eve to make her way to her husband with an urge she was desperate to act upon. Niko would know instantly, would almost trip on his way up to their room and Eve would groan in pity if she didn’t have that spark inside her, that made her unaware of anything but this want…

Once on the bed she’d straddle him and close her eyes as she pushed down on him. She’d try to block out the sound of his moans, try and imagine anything other than his hands on her waist, would move her own hands to her breasts and begin massaging them. She’d envision not her own husband fucking her, but a woman, with blonde hair and a violent yet knowing gaze upon a face Eve was slowly losing pieces of every day.

Eve only did this to keep that memory of the woman, the memory of feeling something so intense it almost broke her, alive. And she’d come to the image of blonde hair and a slowly fading porcelain face.

Villanelle was aware that she didn’t feel anything.

She’d be well aware even if all the teachers, psychologists and even her own mother didn’t tell her. It’s something you know; she didn’t get how they didn’t understand that.

She supposed that’s how she got to where she was today; her lack of feeling allowed her to do things with no remorse, things that other people called “inhumane” or “disturbing” or “psychotic”. When asked if she felt remorse, Villanelle would say “what does that feel like?”

From a young age she was subjected to poking, prodding and testing. They said it was for her own good. She was too young to understand what that meant when they seemed to be anything BUT good to her.

Over time people began to understand that about her and treated her differently. She didn’t mind most of the time; her brother and father still treated her the same, and she liked them. She might not feel anything but she knew they were good, and it was peaceful around them. They reminded her of waves on a beach or a field of flowers.

Her mother, on the other hand, reminded her of every painful injection she’d been exposed to for her whole life.

When Villanelle was around her mother it was the only time she felt anything: rage. A scolding, burning sensation in the pit of her stomach that would rise uncontrollably, spewing out of her mouth and forming words and curses thrown sharply at her mother whilst she stood there, emotionless, before hitting and slapping anywhere where skin was exposed. Rage would soon combine with pain, and whilst Villanelle knew how to control it she didn’t want to. Why control the one feeling you have, when it’s the only thing that lets you know you’re alive?

Sometimes the rage would be simmering; her mind too exhausted to come up with anything spiteful to scream at her mother. She never reacted anyway, just took each insult Villanelle viciously hurled at her with a blank gaze.

Her father provided her with an outlet in the form of an old boxing bag in their shed. He’d take her there and coax her through every scream and cry and curse as her small fists pummelled into them relentlessly. For a month after he died she barely left the shed, just wordlessly punched every inch of the bag until her knuckles bled and mixed into the stuffing that spilled from it in clumps.  
Her mother sent her away soon after with the false promise that she’d return when Oksana learned to control herself. They both knew that was bullshit.

For the next two years she stayed at the children’s home, barely interacted with the other children and scared many of the adults out of dealing with her. The same thing happened at the school she was sent to.

Then, along came Anna.

Oksana caught the attention of Anna right away; a young, abandoned girl who had been through too much and was neglected by those who were meant to care for her through the trauma. The teacher in Anna sought to help this young girl; to allow her to excel in her studies so hopefully she could have a future brighter than her past.  
But Oksana was stubborn. And she had other plans for her relationship with Anna. 

Every afternoon she’d linger around Anna’s classroom, furrowing her brows into an imitation of what she came to understand as a sign one was stressed (courtesy of all the caretakers at the home who ever had to step foot near her). 

In the beginning, Anna would hear her pacing footsteps, and would usher Oksana into her classroom and onto a chair across from her desk. She would ask what’s wrong, Oksana would spout some lie about how she was being abused by another kid, or caretaker, or neighbour.

In the beginning, Anna’s face would turn deep red and she would firmly tell Oksana that she would do something about it. But Oksana would shake her head hurriedly, like she saw people do in movies when they didn’t want their partner to find out that they’d cheated. “No,” she’d tell Anna. “It’s either there or my mother, and I cannot go back to my mother.”

In the beginning, Anna would hold Oksana as she pretended to cry, burying her face into her hands and creating muffled cries that would cause Anna to quickly retract her statement. “I’m so sorry, Oksana,” she’d say, on the verge of tears herself. “I won’t do anything then, I promise.”

Two months later Oksana changed that by kissing Anna before fucking in the classroom’s supply closet.

One month after that Oksana could only see her mother reflected in Anna’s eyes as she was carted off to prison, her haunting screams echoing in her mind and blood from Anna’s husband staining her clothes and her hands and her heart. 

She was sentenced fairly quickly; after all, it’s pretty substantial evidence if a woman outright admits to killing a man so she could be with his wife. Besides, anything was better than having to face Anna again, even prison.

For Oksana, prison wasn’t much different from where she’d been the past few years; locked away with people she made no effort to befriend, shitty food, shittier bedding and bathrooms. The only difference was the staff here weren’t scared of her. Obviously. They’re prison guards, they’d be shit at their jobs if they got scared.

So for four years Oksana kept to herself, only causing trouble if she got really bored some days. Usually then she’d get thrown into this thing adequately named “the hole”, which was just a shitty name for solitary confinement. She preferred it honestly. She didn’t have to interact with anyone down there, and it was becoming easier and easier to quieten her mind into nothingness. The rage and despair was tiring her out.

Some days, when the boredom became too much for her to handle, she’d occupy herself with the limited supply of books they kept in the prison, learning English, Spanish, Greek or German (French reminded her too much of Anna, no matter how much she loved the language). When she’d learnt a sufficient amount of a foreign language she’d begin reading the books in that language. They were mainly old, written by white men who’d write about their sexual female fantasies and call it “art”. Oksana would cringe, contemplate ripping the books up or drawing over every page. But even that wasn’t worth her time.

There was one thing she did love to read, however: poetry.

Specifically, villanelles; the disjointed repetition describing one’s hopeless infatuation with the woman by the lake or the man with the bright smile ignited something within Oksana…something she didn’t really know and had only ever really felt when she was craving Anna’s attention.

Oksana changed her name when she escaped, made possible by an old man with a kind face and promises of a better future thanks to an organisation that allowed killers freedom they’d not be otherwise offered. 

When the man took her to an off-the-beaten-track location with five other women, all rescued murderers from various Russian prisons, she was given this opportunity. The opportunity to no longer have this given name; to no longer be her mother’s daughter.

They arrived to the location and were made to fill out forms (they were written in English, so as to cause confusion to the young women who only knew Russian. Oksana wasn’t fooled however; she knew they were contracts). And at the top of the page were the words “chosen name”.

Oksana smiled at that, her cheeks hurting from their lack of use in that position, and wrote down Villanelle.

No longer a number in a prison. No longer a name associated with her mother.

Her own name. Villanelle.

It turns out, training to be an assassin in a secret Russian organisation is ruthless and rigorous. For two years, Villanelle was exposed to harsh food, harsh terrain and an even harsher trainer. Dasha pushed her to her limits from 5am to 5pm, six days a week. Other times Villanelle was “firmly encouraged” to use the gym or shooting ranges. 

The other girls did; often silently so as not to lose focus – you couldn’t lose focus there, and the trainers wouldn’t allow it at any cost.

Villanelle spent that time in her freezing, windowless room; continuing her self-taught language lessons she began in prison. At night she’d daydream about the endless possibilities that awaited her outside of this cellblock.

The next time Villanelle saw the man that took her from prison, he was lounging on a moth-eaten sofa drinking a glass of disgusting looking brown liquid. He introduced himself as her new handler Konstantin.

She’d been sent to that dilapidated building in the middle of Moscow following her training. One after the other, all the girls she’d been there with were individually sent out to a car that would take them away. A kind of sadness washed over Villanelle as she left with a nod to Dasha. Dasha was a bitch but she taught her things, including not to let any sort of emotion into her demeanour at all. The sadness inside Villanelle vanished as soon as it arrived. 

This was her life now. And she’d take it over her old life any day.

Especially because there was a suitcase full of gorgeous clothes and an envelope full of cash sitting right in front of her.

Villanelle knew her mouth had fallen open at the mere sight of these luxuries but couldn’t bring herself to care. She’d never seen such beautiful things in her life. Konstantin chuckled, loud and harsh.  
“You’re not used to these, huh?”

“Have you seen where I’ve been living these past years?”

Konstantin’s eyes widened and he grinned. “You speak English?”

“It’s better than Russian.”

He hummed in response, looking as if he was thinking Villanelle’s statement over. “Not liking Russian is good enough reason to learn another language, heh?” He chuckled again. Villanelle fought the urge to yank one of the breaking floorboards from it’s position and hit it over his ginormous head. Don’t get too cocky. His time will come.

He seemed to read the room, however, and quickly retrieved something from the pocket of his large coat. “Here is your first assignment. It is not for another week, so you have some time to settle in to your new place in Paris.”

She bristled. “Paris?”

Konstantin nodded, fiddling for something else in his pocket, therefore unaware of the obvious discomfort Villanelle was feeling. “Dasha told me you like style, and I know what they give you there is definitely not that.” Another chuckle, before he retrieved a set of keys, passport and slip of paper. “Your new home. Try not to leave it too often in your first few months on the job, hm? We do not want to find your body in some lake and have to train another new girl for two years.”

Despite it being the reason Villanelle has the life she does, killing wasn’t fun for her. But it paid the bills, and she was good at it, it seemed. And she liked being good at something. It gave her a sense of purpose; a reason to get up in the morning. That was enough for her.

Then she heard from Konstantin that someone was looking into her kills.

“Villanelle, stop smiling,” Konstantin said, glaring in annoyance as he poured himself a whiskey. “It is not a good thing – you could get caught!”

Villanelle rolled her eyes. “God, you’re so dramatic Konstantin. And a party-pooper.” She pouted childishly as Konstantin merely sighed. “Besides, what’s it got to do with you? It’s not like you babysit me when I’m on the job. You’re just my personal bartender!”

“Who paid for your apartment,” he hissed. “Seriously Villanelle, I’ve received warning. If they get any trace of you, they can find your apartment. Then they’ll find me, and my old bosses will find me and my family. I cannot risk that.”

He slumped against the bar top and rubbed his hand over his face tiredly. Villanelle cooed and began petting his head.

“It is okay Konstantin. They won’t catch me.”

“But they might.”

“They won’t.”

Four months later Villanelle’s cornered in a back alleyway in London, which is really not where she pictured herself dying. She wanted to die peacefully in her Parisian bed, wearing a gold dress, or maybe a white suit, and covered in rose petals. Konstantin would be by her bedside, probably with his whiskey and annoying daughter. Her brother Pyotr, and maybe even that one girl from the home who always snuck her pieces of granola bar when Oksana was locked away in a cupboard. She tried not to picture her mother being there. She tried not to picture Anna being there.

Maybe this woman who was awkwardly pointing a gun towards her could be there. She was very sexy indeed, a nice parting gift for the dying Villanelle. 

But first, maybe Villanelle could give her some pointers on how to hold a gun. She grins at her.

“You do know you need to point it in one direction, right? And not all over the place.”

The sexy woman has the audacity to glare at her, but repositions herself all the same. “I feel like I’ve gone insane looking for you. I honestly think I have.”

“That’s on you, I’ve been making it very easy for you to track me lately.”

The sexy woman chuckles; a low rumble that made something stir in Villanelle. Fuck.

“Liar,” she sneers, gun faltering slightly. There are tired lines under her eyes and on her forehead. She looks exhausted. Villanelle doesn’t know whether to gloat or offer her bed.  
God, this sexy lady who’s about to kill her is making her dying moments very confusing.

“If you were easy to catch, would I have spent over two years tracking you, analysing your murders, flying across the globe trying to catch you?”

Villanelle couldn’t help but grin at that confession. “But you had fun though, right?”

The sexy lady looked like she was about to argue, but then sighed and dropped her arms, gun included. “Yes, it was the most alive I’ve ever felt in my entire life. Happy?”

“Very.”

There’s a beat of silence and they’re just…staring at each other. Well, more like Villanelle’s eyes are roaming across every detail on this woman’s face: her widened eyes, faint blush on her cheekbones, furrowed eyebrows. She wasn’t going to let herself get distracted by her hair…the gorgeous expanse of curls that sat in waves down past her shoulders…

“Wanna makeout?”

Well fuck. That wasn’t meant to blurt out. Or sound like a horny teenage boy in the process.

Since when has Villanelle cared about telling people what she wanted?

The sexy woman doesn’t say anything for a moment, just continues to stare. Then a small smirk spreads across her face. “I feel inclined to tell you beforehand that my name is Eve.”

God, even the name’s sexy.

“Hm, suits you,” Villanelle hums, before replacing the gun in Eve’s hand with her own and pressing her against the brick wall of the alleyway.

Eve knows for sure that come tomorrow, she’s going to regret this. That regret will probably weigh her down for the rest of her life as well, as ever-present as the looming grey clouds that constantly occupy London.

However, she thinks about none of that in this very moment. Because in this very moment she has a very annoying, very attractive, very deadly Russian assassin pressed against the door of her hotel room with her lips attached furiously to the smooth expanse of skin below her neck. And the sounds she’s making in response are OBSCENE.

Villanelle’s hands have now fixed themselves amongst Eve’s unruly expanse of hair after visiting various other places: Eve’s waist in the alley, her back in the elevator and her shoulders as Eve struggled to unlock her hotel room door. As a result, her entire body was on fire, ignited like never before and yes she knows she’s going to fucking regret sleeping with the assassin she’s meant to be arresting but there’s no way in hell she’s putting an end to the hottest experience of her life. 

“Fuck, Eve, I need you on the bed.” Villanelle breathed out, following her command with a drawn-out moan as Eve moved to suck at her neck, pressing Villanelle even further into the door with her hips. The last thing Eve wants to do is detach herself from the gorgeous blonde but she’s got no clue what’ll happen to her if she doesn’t obey.

She refuses to admit that the thought of Villanelle choking the life out of Eve as she pleasures her doesn’t turn her on.

With a final scrape of her teeth against the column of Villanelle’s throat, Eve steps away and begins backing up to the bed, eyes never leaving the assassin’s as she slowly starts shedding her articles of clothing. Villanelle’s eyes roam across her body, and her tongue darts out to lick at her lips. The thought of her tongue in other places on Eve’s body causes her to shiver and move her hands automatically to run her fingers through her hair. Villanelle’s eyes follow her movements the entire time…an insatiable hunger within in her dilated pupils that makes Eve feel something indescribable. 

Before Eve has time to reflect on these feeling however, Villanelle’s fallen to her knees and is pulling Eve’s panties down her legs, eyes not leaving hers for a minute. It’s so hot and dangerous and sexy and Eve feels like she’s going to combust when she feels Villanelle’s lips on her clit. 

Suddenly Villanelle removes herself from Eve, who tries not to moan in anguish at the loss of contact. “Sit back against the wall,” she says, and Eve nods, complying quickly. Villanelle smirks, and now Eve can see every inch of Villanelle’s body and what she’s doing to her and God it’s hot as fuck.

Eve’s eyes fall closed and she threads a hand in Villanelle’s hair to leverage herself, trying to keep her moans and sighs somewhat contained for the courtesy of her hotel room neighbours.

This was proving more and more difficult though, as Villanelle decides to add teeth and fingers. “Fuck!” Eve yells, and she feels more than hears Villanelle laugh against her. It sends a jolt through Eve, and she breathily lets Villanelle know she’s close.

Villanelle nods, eyes lifting as she sends a goddamn wink in Eve’s direction before pressing a third finger into Eve, replacing the tongue on her clit with her thumb and moving her lips up to capture Eve’s. It all happens at once and Eve’s scream is swallowed by Villanelle. Her fingers don’t slow down however, and it isn’t long before she brings Eve to climax again and her brain forgets how to function. And the fact that the woman who’s bringing Eve pleasure like no other is the assassin she’s been tracking for two years and is meant to arrest.

But it’s fine. She’ll remember later, after she’s had her fingers buried inside Villanelle and heard her curse in Russian as she comes undone underneath her. She’ll remember when she wakes in the middle of the night to an empty spot beside her, discarded clothing, and a slip of paper that simply reads 'Sorry baby' with a little ‘x’ as a signature.


	2. Day 2: Eve rescues Villanelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part for my KE week fic. Final part coming tomorrow. Thank you all for reading :)

After that meeting with Villanelle, the nausea Eve had felt stepping out of the taxi upon returning to London was unlike anything she’d experienced.

Not only had she immediately left after making a break in the investigation, she went alone. To arrest and bring in the world’s most infamous female assassin whose kill count is higher than Eve’s bank balance.

Not only THAT but she’d fucking slept with said assassin. Multiple times. Multiple AMAZING TIMES…

And she had 31 missed calls and 48 text messages from her husband. Her husband that she’d just cheated on.

With an assassin.

Eve had taken a deep breath in and walked up the front steps of MI6, the little ‘sorry baby’ note burning a hole in her back jeans pocket.

The euphoria Villanelle had felt upon leaving her hotel room that morning was unlike anything she’d experienced.

Not even her times with Anna had given her this rush. Or any time she’d slept with the women in prison or The Twelve’s training centre. 

She’d put it down to the multiple times Eve had made her come the night before; the feeling of danger and excitement at knowing Eve was meant to be arresting Villanelle and instead had used those handcuffs for a very different, WAY more fun scenario.

That feeling had worn off, though, the second Villanelle woke up to a message from Konstantin. She sighed. She was sick of that man. He ruined everything. His message simply told her to get out of London because what the hell, it was very dangerous and reckless and he needed to talk to her.

God, Villanelle was tempted to send a selfie of herself beside Eve’s naked, sleeping form. That and it was also very cute and would make for a great keepsake. She probably wasn’t going to be seeing the gorgeous MI6 agent for quite some time.

So, with a kiss to Eve’s forehead, a quick hack into Eve’s phone to retrieve her phone number (of course she had a husband, who’d pass up an opportunity to bed this woman constantly?) and a neatly scrawled note, Villanelle dressed and left to return to Paris, disappointed at having to leave this way but ultimately satisfied with the (erotic) turn of events.

Besides, how many people got to say the woman that was meant to arrest her fucked her instead?

Three years on and Eve’s phone number remained in Villanelle’s phone, constantly looked at but still, untouched.

When Eve heard her doorbell ring during her reading of one particularly demanding email from a sponsor, she assumed they were the typical religious doorknockers and ignored them. When there was a knock on the door a minute later, she took the opportunity to write an equally rude email back to her sponsor (who would most likely not be after that interaction). When the doorbell rang again Eve left the room with a string of expletives leaving her mouth.

“God I hate working at home sometimes,” she muttered, plastering on a fake smile as she opened her front door to greet…

“Carolyn?”

Eve’s old boss stood on her front porch, looking no different from when Eve last saw her three years beforehand. The woman turned to Eve with a smile. Well, what passes as a smile for Carolyn Martens.

“Eve, hello,” she greeted, before gesturing into her house. “May I come in?”

Eve blinked, still in shock at the fact that her old boss was randomly at her house three years after the MI6 group she ran disbanded. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

With a small nod, Carolyn strode indoors, removing her coat in the process. “In the two years I worked with you and I never saw your house,” she exclaimed. “It’s very cosy. Quaint. Are you still with your husband?”

A simple question, yet it sent Eve hurtling three years back to that fateful decision she’d made. “Yes, I am,” she forced out.

“Even after your little rendezvous?”

A deep breath in. Same old Carolyn, blunt as ever. “Yes. Why are you here, Carolyn?”

“Oh, it’s to discuss her, actually.”

Eve froze. “What?”

Carolyn nodded. “Yes. I’ve heard some news from an old friend that Villanelle’s seemed to got herself into some trouble. Honestly surprised it hasn’t happened sooner, she has been quite careless for a few years now. Rather unfortunate, but a rather fitting end to someone of her kind, wouldn’t you agree?”

Trying to ignore the small thump of her heart at the mention of a woman she’s not seen in three years and barely interacted with being in trouble, Eve faced Carolyn with as much anger expressed as possible. “So, you’re telling me you continued looking into Villanelle even after you specifically told us to stop looking into things, and not only that, but you have inside intel that’s outright TELLING you information about this assassin you’re still tracking?”

Carolyn blinked. Once, twice. Her expression never faltered, seemingly not even put out by Eve’s angered rambling. “If you might recall, Eve, it was you who was the cause of the suspension of the investigation. I, your boss, just happened to be person you confided in with your dirty little secret. It would be quite unethical indeed if I let you continue, and quite suspicious to exile the head-woman of the mission with no explanation.” Eve opened her mouth to protest. “I did you a favour, Eve, and let you move on with your life with the only hiccup being the loss of this job. But I cannot let a woman who’s caused countless deaths get away with it because of your…indiscretions.”

Eve scoffed. “She was just as involved as me, don’t you worry.”

Once again Carolyn expressed no emotion at that statement, merely closing her eyes and taking a deep breath in. “Clearly, I’m not. But, Eve, the reason I am here is because, as much as I’d like her caught and put away for good, it seems The Twelve beat us to it. And they’re not quite as civilised as us British agents.” 

Eve blanched. “The Twelve? You mean the people she was killing for?”

“Quite.”

Eve’s mind raced, the numerous websites and journal articles she’d stashed away amongst her work upstairs – dates and key points highlighted and circled with precision. It had been interesting to say the least, watching the quality of the kills lessen each time; the time gap between each kill now only days instead of weeks or even months apart. 

There’d been a noticeable change since Eve was fired from MI6, that much was certain. It didn’t happen straight away, but gradually, and it kept her up at night. Well, that and other things she still tried desperately not to dwell on…

But now the subject of her night-time fantasies and insomnia sessions was back…somewhat. And Carolyn was here, telling Eve she was in danger, and she needed…

“Carolyn – wait, why is it you need my help?”

Carolyn had shrugged her coat back on and was heading out the door. “I’ll explain it in the car. Now come along, it’s best we get there sooner rather than later.”

Villanelle had to admit, she’d lost her touch over the years.

Whilst she liked to place the blame on numerous aspects of her life (age, the ill-fated trip to visit her dying mother, Konstantin) she knew the real reason. But no way in hell was she going to admit it to anyone, let alone herself.

Who the fuck spends one night with a person and develops feelings?

Sleeping with Eve was meant to be fun and exciting and deadly; an erotic brush with death that would leave them both satisfied and maybe cause MI6 to back off a bit so Villanelle could get back to her usual casual, easy-going life of money and murder.

But boy was she wrong.

Instead, she’d gradually lost her edge, plagued with the images of Eve and her ugly, boring husband she saw whenever she took trips to London (these became more frequent as well). Konstantin, of course, noticed first, a few months after Eve. He paired her up with some newbies, one being her ex, to try and regain some of the control she’d lost. When that didn’t work (because she killed them) he tried to give her targets only situated in Paris, and they became less and less frequent. It stung Villanelle, to know that the one thing she was good at, was TRAINED for, had been tarnished.

“You need to kill her,” Konstantin had said, about a year and a half after her interaction with Eve. “You’re a mess; she’s making you weak.”

Villanelle had glared, turning on her smoothie maker to drown out the rest of her handlers frustrated rambles. “You don’t think I know that?” she’d argued back. “Believe me, I have tried.”

“So why isn’t she dead then?”

Villanelle didn’t respond – she couldn’t! She was both aware of and also didn’t know why Eve wasn’t dead yet; why she hadn’t killed her when the countless trips to London proved she could do otherwise. She had a feeling Konstantin already knew, but he had been with her long enough to see the outcome of Villanelle every time someone close to her died. It was one of his better qualities, Villanelle had to admit, which was why he wasn’t dead yet.

So, Villanelle shrugged, pouring the contents of her smoothie into a large glass. “It doesn’t matter – she’s no longer involved with catching me, so she’s no longer important. It would be a waste to kill her.” When it looked like Konstantin was about to respond Villanelle cut him off with a ruffle of his hair. “But don’t you worry Konstantin, I’ve got it all under control now.”

But Villanelle didn’t have it under control. Hence why three years after Eve she found herself half-conscious, tied and gagged in some foul-smelling warehouse.

“Oh, Villanelle,” a sweet yet sexy female voice sounded from the dark corners of the warehouse. “You’ve really let yourself go, haven’t you?”

Villanelle was about to respond, before she remembered the gag. She settled for a petulant glare instead, directed at the voice somewhere nearby.

“You know, you would not be here if you’d just…I don’t know…not slept with that MI6 agent.” The woman chuckled. “Obviously, we were well aware of that. It’s the reason why your kills have been so sloppy ever since, isn’t it? Dasha would not be pleased to see what you’ve become.”

An involuntary shiver ran down Villanelle’s spine at the mention of her old trainer. And now she had the urge to kill this woman she could not see and could do nothing about it. Great.

“Perhaps, we should send you back, hm, re-train you. You are our star-performer, after all. Well, you were.” The woman stepped into view, her heels adding an extra layer of superiority to her as she towered over Villanelle’s slumped form. Villanelle groaned and rolled her eyes. Of course this woman was sexy as hell.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “What was that? You want to say something?” She leaned forward and painfully stripped the tape from Villanelle’s mouth, who yelped in response, eliciting a smirk from the woman. 

“Do whatever you want with me. I know what happens with members of The Twelve who aren’t cut out for the job.”

“You don’t think you’re cut out for the job, Villanelle?”

She scoffed. “I know why I’m here. I’m just surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”

“Like I said, you’re our star performer.”

“Whilst I’m flattered, I know that’s bullshit.”

The woman sighed, rising back up from her spot on the ground so she was once again towering over Villanelle. “We know the reason you were thrown in prison, Oksana.” Villanelle flinched and the woman chuckled at her noticeable distress. “It was because you were in love. We figured it would happen again; you would go after the agent’s husband, maybe, or even her at some point. But, it appears some things have changed.”

Villanelle growled. “I am not Oksana anymore. I’ve learnt from her mistakes.”

The woman sighed. “That is too bad, Villanelle. We were hoping now would be the perfect opportunity for you to show us who you really are.” Before Villanelle could respond the warehouse door opened, letting in bright rays of sunlight that Villanelle wished she could shield her eyes from. “Looks like we’ll just have to make you watch us kill her instead.”

Villanelle blinked the spots from her eyes, which widened as she saw a small group of people marching into the warehouse. She saw Konstantin there (God, she wished she killed him when she had the chance, now), albeit looking somewhat concerned as he chatted to another tall, stoic looking woman. And beside that woman, stood Eve, staring at Villanelle like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

Villanelle couldn’t help the way her heart flipped when she saw Eve and she sent her a small smirk and a wink, to which Eve rolled her eyes and mouthed something Villanelle couldn’t quite make out.

Villanelle was about to respond when a shot rang out, deafening in the large warehouse space. Instantly Eve and the woman she was with drew their guns, and Villanelle almost laughed at how similar Eve’s stance was from the first time she saw her. Not much had changed it seemed, in three years.

Another shot range out, this one further behind Villanelle. Konstantin now drew his gun and the woman beside Eve turned her head towards her, saying something to which Eve nodded at. Then she was running the short way across the room to where Villanelle sat, shaking her head as she reached her. 

“I thought my MI6 days were behind me. Trust you to be the reason I return.”

“Aw, you returned just for me Eve? How romantic.”

Eve rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless, beginning work on untying the ropes around Villanelle’s wrists. The close proximity caused sensations to run through the assassin, memories of the last time she was this close to Eve racing through her mind. 

“You do know you’re the reason I lost my job in the first place.”

“Hm, I figured as much when I had to resort to seeing you from outside your house instead of in person. That, and I was no longer being tracked and almost murdered by intelligence agencies.”

Eve pulled the final knot free from Villanelle’s wrist, staring at her incredulously. “Hold on, you were outside my h-“

A third shot rang out, followed by another two, all three louder than before, and Villanelle turned her head, cursing when she realised her weapons were nowhere on her anymore. The sexy woman in heels stood about twenty metres behind Villanelle, pointing her gun directly at her. But the rest of the warehouse was empty. She felt Eve stand up beside her, gun shakily pointed towards the other woman.

“You’re a beautiful monster, Villanelle,” the woman called out, a malicious grin slowly spreading across her face. “I hope you understand that’s why we are doing what we know is best for you. And for our organisation.”

Before Villanelle could say or do anything, two more shots sounded, followed by a scream as Eve fell to the ground.


	3. Day 3: Soft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final part! Thank you to all who have read and commented or left kudos. It means so much and I'm so glad you enjoyed this :)
> 
> I wrote this chapter in 90 minutes, so any and all mistakes are on me and my inability to time manage.

When Eve woke, it was because of the most pain she’d ever experienced shooting through her thigh.

With a groan she was sure sounded pathetic she squinted her eyes against the sharp fluorescent lighting and turned onto her side. Well, tried to. A bunch of needles sticking out of her arms prevented that from happening.

Gingerly, Eve sat back against the pillows (stark white; she never understood why when most patients were in hospital because of bleeding). Her left thigh was bandaged down past her knee. A bit excessive, maybe, but she was in too much pain to focus much of her attention onto it.

Finally finding a comfortable albeit slightly painful position, Eve sighed and groggily examined her whereabouts. She was in a hospital, that much was certain. Where the hospital was, she had no idea. But it was too quiet for it to be a regular hospital she was staying in…

“Ah, Eve, good. You’re awake,” Carolyn briskly entered Eve’s room, not looking the slightest bit ruffled from the interaction in the warehouse. Eve wondered if she’d been out for longer than she thought or if it was just Carolyn being Carolyn.

“Where am I?” Eve mumbled in response, as Carolyn stood by the machines shuffling around some papers. “Is everyone alright?” She swallowed the lump in her throat as she tried not to think of any possible horrific scenarios that may have occurred after she was shot; scenarios involving a certain blonde…

Carolyn continued shuffling the papers around. “If by everyone you mean Villanelle, then yes, she’s fine. Konstantin’s with her and they’re on their way back to Russia. She took out Helene fairly quickly after you were shot, I may add. It was rather impressive, considering her track record with her murders the last few years…” Her voice trailed off as she seemed to find what she was looking for, producing a single sheet of paper from within the large pile with a flourish. “I hate to disturb you with this but unfortunately undisclosed hospitals require a significant amount of information in order to house you here. I can assure you I would know…”

The words on the paper swam before Eve’s eyes, still adjusting to the harsh lighting enveloping the room. She pushed the knowledge that Villanelle had already left to the back of her mind before continuing. “I…don’t understand. I’m not with MI6 anymore, why am I here?”

Carolyn let out a sigh, akin to one of annoyance rather than pity. Trust her not to completely change her demeanour even when a former employee was shot by a member of a dangerous international organisation. “Let’s just say it’s more difficult to explain a gunshot wound to the thigh without further explanation as to why it’s there to a regular hospital employee, than it is to just bring you here. It’s fairly simple, Eve. I really hope it’s the medication affecting your thought process and not the fact that you’ve been stuck in a dreary journalist position the past three years.”

Eve chose not to respond to that remark, instead filling out the form with her details. Her stomach churned when she wrote down Niko’s name as an emergency contact. How was she meant to explain this to him? Did he know where she was?

Pushing that information to the back of her mind (along with everything else, it seemed), Eve completed the rest of her information and handed it over to her former boss, who stashed it away in her briefcase with the rest of the documents. “Right, that’s that then.” She turned to Eve, giving her a look unlike one Eve had ever seen from the woman. “I do apologise for bringing you into this, Eve. I would like to say you brought it on yourself, which you did, but I’ve often learned it’s not polite to place the blame on the victim.”

Eve scoffed as Carolyn turned to exit the room, unsure once again on how to respond to that woman, but what Carolyn just said caused her to jolt up in bed suddenly. Wincing through the pain she faced Carolyn. “Wait, what do you mean I brought it on myself? You told me in the car it was Helene who wanted me there, a woman I’ve never met before in my life. What’s her decision got to do with blaming me for…” She gestured to her bandaged-clad leg, “this?”

Carolyn raised her eyes to the ceiling, and honestly, Eve was about ready to pummel this infuriating woman. “Eve, I know how your mind works. Therefore, I know that even though our group disbanded and you acquired a new job, you never stopped looking into the workings of your assassin.”

Eve gulped. “Um…yeah, I guess. So?”

“So, I’m sure you’re aware of the state of Villanelle’s kills over the past few years.”

“Well, yeah, they’re completely different to when we were tracking her. They weren’t as precise, or frequent. Most of them were located in Paris instead of across multiple locations. Some of the people weren’t even that important.” Eve frowned. “Is that why The Twelve took her? Because of that?”

Carolyn gave a curt nod. “It does appear that way, yes. But Eve, why do you THINK her kills changed? What do you think the reason behind it was?”

“I…” Eve was sure she knew the reason. She could see the way Villanelle’s eyes lit up when she saw Eve enter the warehouse, and also the comment she made about visiting Eve’s house in London, despite very few of her targets being there as of late. Eve didn’t want to think that one lust-filled night could change someone’s work, but she also couldn’t deny that that night was what she thought about every waking minute of her existence. 

She sighed, as Carolyn raised an eyebrow. “I can assure you Eve, that relationship with her, as twisted and confusing as it may be, is not as one-sided as you think.” Then with another firm nod, she turned and left the room.

It turned out, breaking into a heavily armed hospital used to hold injured government agents was not as difficult as Villanelle thought it would be.

Disguised as a paramedic helping wheel in a patient from the discrete looking ambulance, she snuck into the hospital successfully, narrowly avoiding running into the woman she saw with Eve earlier at the warehouse. Konstantin had told her on their ride to the airport that she was Eve’s former boss at MI6, Carolyn (and the way he talked about her made Villanelle think there was something more to their relationship, to which she was too disgusted to pry for more questions). This was all before Villanelle drugged his vodka he was swigging from and he blacked out, allowing Villanelle to direct the taxi driver towards the MI6 headquarters.

Then, all she had to do was threaten one of the staff members to release information on the hospital’s location and “borrow” one of the sets of scrubs they had stashed in a supply closet. Simple, really. 

“Eve better be happy to see me,” she murmured as she ducked into a bathroom stall to change out of the scrubs. As much as Villanelle loved watching people die, she wasn’t so keen on wearing the clothes they died in. Smelling like death wasn’t as appealing as she was once told by an old prison mate.

The hospital wasn’t overly large, which wasn’t surprising given the secrecy of it. There was a main area with chairs and a front desk, with the woman behind the desk too caught up in whatever she was listening to on her phone to notice Villanelle sneaking down one of the three corridors labelled ‘Gunshot Victims’.

The rooms were no different from regular hospital rooms, either; each one as heinously bright and blinding as ever. Villanelle squinted her eyes against the sharp lighting, before a patch of dark against a bed in one of the rooms caught her eye. She grinned, and all but ran towards the room. It was only when she got to the entrance that she realised she should’ve bought flowers. Or chocolates. What to hospital patients have brought to them when they were injured?

Eve’s eyes widened when she saw Villanelle enter her room, and the blonde couldn’t help the smile she gave her in return. Even with the bandaged leg and unruly state of her gorgeous hair, not to mention the numerous needles sticking out of her arm, she looked beautiful. “Oh…Villanelle, hi.”

“Hi, Eve.”

“I thought you were on your way back to Russia. Well, that’s what Carolyn said…”

Villanelle shrugged, walking over to the side of Eve’s bed where her injured leg wasn’t and perching beside her waist. “I wasn’t going to leave without saying goodbye. You came to rescue me. How rude would that be?”

Eve laughed, her throat hoarse and rough with the fading effects of the drugs and lack of water. Villanelle handed the glass of it over from the bedside table, and the look Eve gave her after that action made wearing the death-smelling scrubs so worth it. “Yeah, you looked like you could use a hand. You seemed pretty tied up.”

Villanelle rolled her eyes and smacked Eve’s side. “I cannot believe you are making jokes after almost dying. It’s very attractive, you know.”

“I didn’t almost die; I was shot in the thigh.”

“Eve, this is the one time you can act all heroic and no one will judge you for it. Do not ruin this attractiveness by lessening the extent of your actions.”

Eve grinned, lacing her fingers gently through Villanelle’s, who was trying to remember to control her breathing. “As much as I’m stuck on the fact that you’ve just called me attractive twice in less than a minute, are you okay? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

Villanelle gave her a soft smile and shook her head. “Nope! Thanks to you almost dying a got a burst of adrenaline that allowed me to kill that Twelve woman.”

“Helene.”

“Helene?” Villanelle scoffed. “Of course it was a sexy name.”

Eve chuckled, absentmindedly brushing her thumb across Villanelle’s knuckles. And now Villanelle felt like she couldn’t breathe. How was that possible?

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay. I wasn’t sure if you would be, considering the state of your murders recently.”

Now Villanelle’s eyes widened and a grin spread across her face as she stared down at woman beside her. “Eve, were you still looking into me? Did you still want to find me?”

Eve rolled her eyes. “Of course I did, you idiot. I wasn’t going to let someone get away with murder just because I lost my job of looking into said murderer.”

“Uh-huh, that is definitely the reason.”

“It is!”

“And not because of the incredible night we spent together.”

“Absolutely not. Oh, and thanks for the note, by the way.”

“I didn’t want to risk getting arrested! People are prone to regretting sleeping with others the morning after.”

“You thought I’d regret sleeping with you?”

Villanelle shrugged, averting her gaze. “I don’t know…maybe? Like you said, I kill people. And it put your job at risk. You could’ve been promoted by now, or still had a good relationship with the moustache.”

“I…hey I do have a good marriage, thank you.” At the disbelieving look Villanelle gave her, Eve sighed. “Alright, never mind. But I want you to know that I do not regret sleeping with you.”

“Of course you don’t, I am amazing.”

“Don’t make me take that back.”

“Too late! Besides, you took a bullet for me as well. You are very much in love with me.”

Eve rolled her eyes, sitting further up in her bed so her face was now level with Villanelle’s. She winced a bit, before nudging the assassin’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t go that far. But, you are very likeable.”

“Ha! You like me.”

“That is not what I said, stop twisting my words!”

Villanelle grinned, brushing a stray curl behind Eve’s ear. “I like you too, Eve. A lot, actually. Which might sound weird considering we had one interaction three years ago, but…” She trailed off as Eve moved her hand from Villanelle’s to her cheek, before leaning in and gently placing her lips against hers. Villanelle sighed, feeling Eve do the same as she moved a hand into Eve’s curls and the other against her waist. 

Oh yeah, she was very glad her organisation almost killed her.

After a few moments Villanelle reluctantly pulled away. “I cannot stay in London now, Eve. Not after I killed someone from The Twelve. Preeeeetty sure they all want me dead now.” She tried to make it sound light-hearted but the sad smile Eve gave her told her otherwise. She relinked their fingers and squeezed tightly. 

“Be careful, okay?”

“I always am.”

With another roll of her eyes, Eve placed another kiss upon Villanelle’s lips, and Villanelle could almost hear the cheesy music that plays in every 2000’s romcom. Reluctantly, she sighed and pulled away. “I will return to see you when it is safe.”

Eve grinned. “I don’t doubt that. Hey, speaking of, how did you even get in here? This is government protected and you’re an elusive assassin, you should not be able –“

“Yeah, I should probably go.” Eve laughed as Villanelle began to leave the room, turning back at the last second and offering one last statement to the beautiful woman who was meant to destroy her life. “See you soon.”

Eve smiled, the adoration in her eyes boring into Villanelle’s. “See you soon.”


End file.
